


Not Quite as Planned

by NeverAndAlways



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Childbirth, Gen, Mpreg, Not Beta Read, POV Peter Quill, Post-Guardians of the Galaxy (2014), Swearing, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-15 11:31:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8054635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverAndAlways/pseuds/NeverAndAlways
Summary: Taking a break from writing...with more writing.Just a simple birth fic before I go back to my current project.





	1. Chapter 1

Lounging in his bunk, Peter Quill hums along to a song he's heard a thousand times. _Hooked on a Feeling_ , Blue Swede. Number one on his playlist. Somehow it never really gets old.

He takes the headphones off and puts them on his belly. "Gotta get you started on the good stuff early, kiddo." he sighs, and stretches languidly. He's feeling slow and lazy and heavy, and sore as hell; this is about all he has energy for. The sooner this kid gets out, the better. The past nine months have really changed his view on one-night stands. He shuts his eyes and floats away on the music...

"Hey Quill."

...or not. He opens his eyes reluctantly. "What's up, Rocket?"

The raccoon jerks his head back in the direction of the cockpit. "We're almost at the planet, you might wanna come up front."

"'K. I'll be there in a sec."

Rocket turns to leave. Then he turns back. "You do know that's not where your ears are, right?"

Peter shoots him a sharp look in response, and Rocket scoffs and disappears. Once he's gone, Peter removes the headphones and sits up. The movement shoots a splinter of pain up his back; he massages it one-handed until the muscles untie themselves. Then he stands up.

"Alright. C'mon, little guy." he gives his belly a pat, and ambles away.

ooo

"I am Groot!"

Groot lumbers up to Peter, almost dislodging him from the ladder. Groot is now roughly the size of a child, and has the same enthusiasm as one. He reaches out a mossy hand and more or less hauls Peter the rest of the way up.

"Thanks, buddy." says Peter once he gets his feet under him.

"I am Groot?" Groot hovers, full of beady-eyed curiosity.

"Sorry dude, I don't know what you're saying."

"I am Groot."

"He said he doesn't understand you, Groot, back off." Rocket yells from somewhere in the cockpit. Groot mutters sourly but does as he's told. Peter ambles over toward Rocket's voice. A planet hangs in the blackness past the windows, threatening in shades of gray and terra-cotta red. Arcturus III.

Drax breaks the silence, as he usually does. "Quill! You have returned!" he booms. Rocket flinches and rubs his ears.

"Shit, man, why you gotta yell all the time? He's right there." he grumbles. Drax doesn't seem to notice.

"Hey Drax." Peter takes a seat at the comm. He hasn't spent much time in the pilot's seat lately, and not just because he's running out of room there. It's not the safest place, for him or the kid (but since when have you ever cared about safety, Peter? Jesus, Yondu would have a fit if he heard this. Maybe he really is soft).

"How fares the child?" Drax continues, still oblivious to Rocket's complaints.

Peter shrugs. "Same as yesterday." sitting almost between his knees. Feels like he's re-learning how to walk.

"Have patience, Quill. The discomfort is merely temporary."

Peter doesn't quite know what to say to this tangle of words, but thankfully, he's saved from trying. Gamora strides into the cockpit; they give each other a nod of acknowledgement. Then she slips into the pilot's seat. For a few seconds she gazes at the approaching planet. Then she looks back at Quill.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Not really. But if this thing isn't here, I'm gonna kick Yondu's ass."

Gamora fixes him with a knowing look. "You are an idiot."

"I thought we'd established that."

"It bears repeating." Gamora turns her gaze back to the window.

They fall into a high orbit for a while. Sunrise comes and goes, around the edge of the planet and back again. Sensors blink on the consoles, looking for a single radar blip in an ocean of rock. Worse than a needle in a haystack. Peter slouches in his chair and holds his belly. There's a little gnawing idea at the back of his mind. He's trying to ignore it, but - no. Don't think about it, Peter. You've got a mission to do.

They circle for hours. Peter gets more and more uncomfortable, though he can't tell if it's due to the chair or the kid. His back and hips are fucking _throbbing_. Every few minutes, it seems, he has to shift positions just to redistribute the pressure. Even Groot notices.

"I am Groot?" he asks, peering around the back of the chair. One gnarled arm snakes out toward Peter's belly; he pushes it away.

"Dude, don't-"

"I am Groot??" Groot's voice takes on a worried note.

"Still can't understand you, buddy."

Rocket glances over at them. "He's asking if you're okay. I gotta say, I was starting to wonder too."

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm _fine_ ," he repeats to Groot, brushing away the curious green shoots trekking across his belly. "Really. Stop with the touching, okay?"

"I am Groot." Groot shrugs in a 'suit yourself' kind of way, and lumbers back across the ship to his planter box.

"What is his **deal**?" Peter mutters. One shoot is lodged in the fabric of his shirt. He picks it loose.

"Eh, he likes you." Rocket shrugs. "You an' Starlord Junior."

"Why?" jeez, again with the pain? Peter changes position for the umpteenth time. You can almost set your watch by this shit.

"Heck if I know. He just likes some people. 's like a dog or something."

"I am Groot!" Groot growls from across the ship.

"It's what you are!" Rocket shoots back. Lumbering, purposeful footsteps start toward them. But before an argument can start, Drax interjects.

"What is that?"

They turn to look. An object is hovering outside. It's tiny and seed-shaped and seems to be covered in a shell of crisscrossed glass. They stare. Rocket pins his ears back and mutters some sort of curse.

"Perhaps it is a spacefaring organism?" Drax speculates.

"A space what now??" Rocket glares at him.

"Not this close to a planet." says Gamora.

The thing moves closer. More details appear; stubby fins on the side, a gap in the glass that might be a window. A ship? A second one appears, identical to the first,  then three and more. They fall smoothly into formation, and keep coming. They're not as tiny now. In fact, they almost match the Milano in size. And they don't look friendly.

A console beeps: the computer's found a match. Peter, Gamora, Drax, and Rocket turn to look. There's a point on the sensors, right in the middle of the lower continent. Right behind those ships. They look at the sensors, then at the ships. Then back to the sensors.

"Do it." as always, Rocket's the first one to jump into the fray. "Just go for it, you can get past 'em."

"No." Drax is solemn. "I recognize these ships; they are Thaene. The Thaene move in swarms, we cannot outrun them."

"Okay, then we just shoot 'em."

"No. Reinforcements are likely not far behind."

"So, what, we just leave?"

"And return to Nova Corps empty-handed?" says Gamora skeptically.

They look back at the sensor display. Outside, the Thaene stare them down. Waiting for them to blink.

Suddenly Rocket stands up. "Fuck, I can't stand it anymore. If you softies aren't gonna do it, I will-" he clambers up over the consoles to Gamora's seat. Before she can stop him, he jams on the throttle. Peter, Gamora, and Drax are thrown back in their chairs as the Milano feints around the Thaene ships. The swarm wheels around in hot pursuit. The lead ship fires; the bolt hits the Milano's starboard wing, and she jerks sideways.

"Rocket, what the hell-?!" Peter yells. The words come out embarrassingly high-pitched.

"Don't worry, I got it!" Rocket yells back. He turns just enough to return fire. A ship is hit; it falters and slams into the one behind it and they both go careening away into space, trailing flames behind them. But no sooner do they fall out of formation than two new ships appear from the back to take their place. Rocket doesn't seem to care. He jams on the throttle again, making the Milano stoop sharply toward the planet's surface even as the Thaene close in around them.

She cuts into the atmosphere like a knife through butter. Behind them, Thaene ships slam into it and bounce off like so many rubber balls. But a handful of the biggest ships - spiky, mean-looking things - make it through and continue the chase. The Milano begins to shake under the pressure of the atmosphere; streamers of fire lick at the windows.

They're hit with another blast just as they break through the clouds. The Milano jolts again. Rocket mutters under his breath. "C'mon, c'mon-"

The landscape seems to be made entirely of rock. Huge spires and peaks jut up into the atmosphere, too high even for snow. Rocket steers toward the tallest one. It's full of holes and craters like a sponge; even the biggest gaps look barely wide enough for the Milano to fit through. At the last second, he yanks on the controls, flipping the craft on its side. One Thaene ship tries to follow. That's one less Thaene on their tail.

The sensor blip is just ahead of them now. Rocket cranes his head back and yells to Peter.

"How much is this thing worth to you, anyway?"

Not this much, thinks Peter. "Five thousand credits!" he yells back.

"Well I hope you realize, I'm expecting a share of that!"

Peter doesn't get a chance to respond. A trio of Thaene ships has made it through the rocks and come around to cut them off. There's no time to stop.

"Hang onto something!" Rocket hunkers down, still holding on tight to the throttle.

The Milano charges right into the Thaene ships. Glass from their shields sprays across the windows, fire and debris goes streaming away behind them. The leader of the trio gets skewered on the nose of the Milano. It makes an effective ballast as the ship, severely battered by the impact, goes into a groundward spiral. Anything that's not welded down floats to the back of the ship; wrenches, a soldering iron, Groot's old flower pot. With their target dead ahead, Rocket is just barely able to pull up on the throttle in time. The hull groans, the mountainside rushes to meet them, and everything goes black.

oOo


	2. Chapter 2

Peter opens his eyes.

The first thing he's aware of is pain. The same pain as before, but meaner, like his belly is trying to implode on itself. It punches an involuntary groan out of him.

"Quill?" Gamora clambers over the co-pilot's chair toward him. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine-" he protests, but lets her help him to his feet. He has to lean on the chair for a moment until the pain subsides. Then he looks around. The ship is a mess: broken bulkheads and dislodged panels everywhere. The windows are spiderwebbed with cracks, and judging by the darkness outside, they're now a part of the mountain. "Where is everyone?" he asks blearily.

"We crash-landed at the mouth of a cave." says Gamora. "Drax and Rocket are attempting to locate the artifact."

Peter sighs. "I'm gonna kill that raccoon."

"Agreed." Gamora casts a considering look at the rock outside the windows. "I doubt we will be able to leave under our own power."

"Yeah..." Peter turns and pushes a few buttons on the nearest console. It flickers valiantly, but not much else. Might have to call Yondu on this one.

Without thinking, Peter climbs onto the chair to check an access panel higher up. The movement amps up the pressure so much and so suddenly that it almost knocks him down again. Gamora catches him before he can fall.

"Quill, what is going on?" she's starting to sound suspicious.

"Nothing, I'm fine." Peter leans hard on the console.

She stares him down. "That is hardly convincing." she says flatly. "Now, you will tell me what's wrong, or I will-"

"Hey guys."

Rocket squeezes through the half-open door, followed closely by Drax. In Drax's arms is a large, cylindrical something that casts a baleful glow against his face. He lowers it to the floor.

"So. We got some good news and some bad news. The good news is, we found the obelisk...the bad news is," Rocket plants a foot on the cylinder "it's not the obelisk. It's a resonator, set up to mimic the sensor readings you'd get from the real thing. Either someone beat us to it, or it was never here in the first place."

Peter stares at the resonator. Another cramp is wrapping itself around him and making it hard to concentrate. "Damn." he says quietly.

"Indeed." Drax agrees.

"So now what?" Rocket looks up at them.

"I do not know. But first, we must devise a way to leave this planet. Quill? What do you suggest?"

Rocket, Drax, and Gamora look to Peter. He's sunk into the comm station chair, holding his belly, his face drawn with discomfort. A dark, wet stain is spreading down the inseam of his slacks. His water broke. He looks up at the others.

"I think we've got a bigger problem."

oOo

 

"Oh my god." says Rocket for the umpteenth time. "Oh my _god_. This is not happening." he runs his hands through his fur from back to front a few times, and finally settles for wringing his whiskers.

"It is happening, Rocket." Gamora snaps. "So you had better get used to it."

"But does he really have to do it _here_?"

"He does not have much choice." Drax this time. He's standing by the ladder, leaning his back on the wall. He looks like he's daring them to try and get past him. "The child is ready to be born, so he will deliver here."

Rocket groans. "As long as I don't have to help."

"I can hear you, you know." Peter's voice drifts up from below. There are a few rustlings, a thump, and some quiet swearing. "Uh. Can I get a hand?"

Drax goes first. He moves down the ladder rather nimbly for someone his size. He finds the room in disarray; boxes and crates are scattered everywhere. Peter is crouched by the bed. He glances up, looking a bit sheepish. He's changed out of his usual clothes and into a pair of baggy (and somewhat ratty) pajamas.

"You require assistance?"

"Yeah. Um..." Peter puts a hand under his belly and tries to pull himself upright. He remains firmly on the ground. "I'm...I'm stuck."

With a rumbling laugh, Drax obliges. Once Peter's on his feet, Drax hovers a hand at the small of his back to help keep him upright. "Was there something else?"

"The goddamn boxes." Peter nudges one with his toe. "They came loose in the crash, and I can't-"

"I understand." Drax easily picks up a pair of crates and moves them aside. Then he picks up another and repeats the process. "How are you faring?" he asks. His tone is unusually gentle.

"I've been better." Peter scoots a small box under the bed. "I mean, it hurts like hell, but...it's for a good cause, right?" he gives a nervous smile.

Drax smiles in return. That's a rare thing. Usually when Drax smiles, the situation is much more grim. "It is." he says with a nod.

"Either way, I just want it over with." Peter puts both hands on the small of his back and stretches the tension out of it. Maybe because of the movement, or maybe just bad timing, a contraction starts up. He bends forward around his belly and hisses a curse.

"Be still." Drax helps him to the bed. "It will pass."

Peter gasps. "Don't touch me." the contractions are coming faster now; it's harder to stay on top of them. Harder to stay in control.

More bad timing: on the other side of the room, the viewscreen beeps. An incoming call. Peter swears again. "Shit, that's probably Yondu."

"Should I-?" Drax wonders, but his question is answered when the screen flickers on. A scruffy blue face looms at them.

"Quill?" it drawls. Its voice is dry and rasping. "You there, boy?"

"I'm here." Peter calls back, a little breathless. He leans to one side; his bed is just visible from the viewscreen. Yondu's bloodshot eyes swivel toward him.

"What d'you want? I'm in the middle of a raid, this better be good."

"Yondu, we're at Arcturus III. The obelisk isn't here."

"What d'you mean it ain't there? I gave you th' goddamn map, it oughta be there!"

"Well, it's not. The signal was coming from a resonator coil. Someone beat us to it."

Yondu swears and spits somewhere offscreen. "Arright. I'll meet ya back at base, you can-"

"Wait, hang on." Yondu's face turns back toward the screen. "We were ambushed by a Thaene swarm, we crashed the Milano."

"Well that's your damn fault then, ain't it?" Yondu shrugs.

"Yondu, please. We're dead in the water."

Yondu thinks for a moment. Then he rolls his eyes. "Arright. But we finish this raid first, then we come rescue yer sorry ass."

"Thanks, Yondu."

"Yeah, yeah." Yondu does a double take. His eyes look Peter up and down with only mild interest. "Yer lookin' awful big."

"Yeah. Didn't think you'd notice." Peter smirks, but there's not much humor in it.

"You hunt down the sonuvabitch that did it?"

"Never got his name." says Peter. Yondu snorts, half amused and half disdainful. "I'll see you later, Yondu."

"Whatever."

A colossal blue hand covers the image, and the screen goes blank and disappears. Peter sighs. Drax throws him a glance.

"You believe he will honor his word?"

"Oh, yeah. 'Bout the only good thing about him is that he never goes back on a promise. The question is when. Raids can take days." Peter turns so he can lie down properly on the bed. Then he sighs again. "God, what I wouldn't give for a drink right now."

 

oOo

 

An hour passes.

Then three.

Then five.

After that, Peter loses count. This pain is almost constant. It's huge and it's everywhere and _fuck_ , he's gonna get lost in it if he's not careful. He's listened to almost all his mixtapes now. Some of them twice. The music is a nice distraction, and it's turned up loud so no one can hear the sounds he's making. Maybe it's some kind of instinct or maybe he's just stubborn, but he's going this alone. No way is anyone getting that close to his junk right now. Least of all his teammates. The hatch at the top of the ladder is shut tight; Drax, Rocket, Gamora, and Groot are under strict orders not to touch it unless there's an emergency. He's got supplies, as much as he could barter or flat-out steal. He did his homework. He can do this.

Just gotta keep telling himself that.

Another contraction...goddamn, you'd think he'd be used to them by now. Peter makes his way to the nest of blankets and pillows he's constructed (well alright, stolen. Mostly. Some of them might be his). Somehow his legs still work, albeit shakily. He lowers himself to his knees. He's been ready for half an hour now, _more_ than ready - he reaches a hand down between his legs. As the contraction backs down, he can just barely feel the crown of the baby's head. He breathes a sigh of relief. Finally he's dialed, or whatever the fuck - he's ready. But the contraction's over, so he climbs to his feet again and waits for the next one. His music plays in the background, discordantly cheerful.

"So build me up - _build me up_ \- buttercup, don't break my heart..."

He doesn't have long to wait. The pain and pressure comes surging back, and he's pushing before he's even aware of it. He moans in the back of his throat. Nothing should hurt this bad.

He does it again. And again. And again. After a while, he can't even hear the sounds he's making. They're drowned out by the music and by his own pulse in his ears. His mixtape plays on. _Bohemian Rhapsody_ comes on, then _American Pie_ , and for probably the first time in his life he doesn't sing along to either one.

At the edge of yet another contraction, he realizes he's seeing stars. Slow down, Quill. Breathe. Peter steadies himself on a nearby shelf and tries to do just that. But his body isn't giving an inch; once again, it bears down all by itself, and he's left scrambling to catch up. It freaking _burns_ , why do people do this voluntarily? His body is stretching and stretching and he plants his feet a little farther apart to give the kid more room. He lets out a yelp and just about loses his footing when it comes to crown, moving the pressure into his hips and back. He fumbles one-handed to support the head as it comes. God, if he ever finds the kid's father, that guy is in for a serious ass-kicking.

The contraction doesn't let up. It keeps coming and coming, not even giving Peter a chance to breathe. He just pushes right through it, even as his vision starts to gray out - and then suddenly his baby is in his hands.

"Oh. Holy crap."

Peter tries to sink down to his knees, but his legs are having none of it. He ends up falling rather gracelessly on his ass instead. He winces, but doesn't care much beyond that. Instead he cuddles the newborn to his chest with one hand and reaches for a towel with the other. He lets out a tentative laugh as he towels the baby off. It coughs, gurgles, and finally lets out a wail that bounces sharply off the metal walls.

"Woah, hey. Hi there, little-" he risks a look under the towel "-little guy." a boy. He has a son. He laughs again. "I feel like I should apologize, kiddo. You're stuck with me as your dad. Not to mention those four lunatics up there..." he jerks his head in the direction of the cockpit. Speaking of which...he pulls a blanket over himself and takes a breath to call for his teammates.

Only then does he realize that the noises he's hearing aren't coming from the speakers. There's a commotion up above. A blaster bolt zings against the side of the ship, then another. Rocket and Gamora are shouting. He hears the word Thaene. His breath catches in his throat - some of the ships must have gotten through. And if they board the Milano they'll find him and the baby, and he's not even armed. And there's nowhere to hide down here. Peter looks around for his blaster, or at least something he can hit with, but there's the baby in his arms, and his legs aren't responding - he hears Gamora fire back at the Thaene - and then a familiar sound.

He stops. He listens. There it is again: a high, clear whistle. It goes for a few seconds, stops, starts again, and changes pitch. There's more yelling, from outside this time. The whistle raises in pitch again. It spikes right up past his range of hearing, into a thin sound that bubbles in his ears, and Peter damn near smiles. Only one person he knows can whistle like that.

The whistling continues until there's no more shouting. Then it, too, abruptly stops. There are a few seconds of ringing silence. Then the hatch squeaks open. Rocket peers down at him.

"Hey Quill. We got company." the raccoon's gaze falls on the baby in Peter's arms. He studies it for a moment and - was that a smile? "Oh, hey." he says, with not quite as much of his usual roughness. "Congrats, dude."

Now Peter really does smile. "Thanks, Rocket."

 

oOo

 

Some days later, the Milano's been repaired and they've parted ways with Yondu. Just as well: Yondu wasn't exactly thrilled about the baby, and his crew kept making pointed comments about being hungry. What _is_ it with these guys and wanting to eat people? Anyway, they're on Xandar now, resting and taking on supplies. It's kind of nice to have a break.

Peter steps into the cockpit. Bright Xandarian sunshine streaks through the windows and gleams on the chairs and consoles. He heads toward the pilot's seat, where a low, dusty voice is humming a tune.

"Groot?"

The humming stops. Peter leans over the back of the chair; Groot looks up at him. Groot is sitting cross-legged with his arms woven into a sort of cradle. In the center of the cradle, swaddled tight in a blanket, is the baby. Peter's never seen Groot look quite so content.

"You two look comfy." he smiles.

Groot smiles back. "I am Groot." 

"Mm-hmm." still can't understand him like Rocket does, but it can't hurt to pretend a little. "Hey, uh...hate to do this, but can I have him back?" Groot's smile fades. A few thin branches extend over the baby, and he pulls away a little. He's been protective of the kid since he first laid eyes on him. "I know, man, but he's gotta eat. And you've had him for like two hours."

Groot hesitates. Then the branches recede. He takes a long look at the baby, sighs, and finally lets Peter reach down and take him. The baby wakes up and makes a few grumpy noises; Peter shushes him gently. He nods to Groot. "Thanks for watchin' him."

"I am Groot."

Peter walks with the baby back to his quarters. There are a couple of twigs and tiny sprouts stuck in the blanket. He picks them out as he goes. When they get to his quarters, he turns on some music, then climbs into his bunk and sets the baby in his lap so he can pull off his shirt. Then he lies back and holds the baby to his chest. They're still getting this part figured out.

The baby's just barely started eating when there's a knock at the door. It's Gamora.

"You wanted to speak to me?" she asks.

"Oh hey, yeah, come on in." Peter nods to her. Gamora starts to sit down beside him, and pauses. She cocks her head, looking into the middle distance.

"What are you listening to?" there's just the faintest note of disdain in her voice.

"The Jackson Five." says Peter with a not-so-faint note of pride. "Gotta get him started on the good stuff early."

"Mm." Gamora folds her long legs under and sits down. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Oh, right. Um..." Peter stares at the ceiling to collect his thoughts. "So I was thinking-"

"That's a surprise." Gamora interrupts with a smirk.

"I was _thinking_ ," Peter presses on. "Alex is gonna need someone to look up to, y'know? And Drax would take it way too seriously and it'd just be weird if I asked Rocket, so I was thinking...how would you feel about being his godmother?"

Gamora stares. "His what?"

"His godmother. It's kinda...like, I'm his dad, right, so you'd basically be his mom. Except not really, 'cause we're not together or anything." Gamora quirks an eyebrow, considering. "'Cause, I mean, he's never gonna meet his father, and I'm not a great person to look up to, so he'll need some kind of role model, and I was just thinking-"

"Yes."

"-maybe you could - wait, what?"

"I would be honored." Gamora gives him just the faintest smile. Peter grins. "After all," she continues thoughtfully, "Since it is your offspring, it will no doubt need supervision. I imagine it will be trying to fly the ship as soon as it can walk."

Peter sputters out a laugh. "Yeah, probably." he lifts the baby away from his chest and moves him to his shoulder to burp him. "Gamora, you're awesome." he says quietly.

"I know." Gamora stands up. "And you don't give yourself enough credit." she stands for a moment, looking down at her new godson. Then, suddenly, she leans in and plants a kiss on Peter's cheek. "You will be a very good father." she says, like it's an indisputable fact. She walks away before Peter can respond.

But as he watches her leave, it occurs to him that maybe - just maybe - she might be right.

~ooOO00OOoo~

**Author's Note:**

> Just for reference, the Thaene ships were based on radiolarians: https://micro.magnet.fsu.edu/primer/techniques/phasegallery/images/radiolarians.jpg
> 
> -
> 
> If you like the story, please leave a comment - I'd love to hear from you!


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